Raising The Stakes
by LittleGee
Summary: Spin-off one-shot. Georgia thought it would be all bright lights and playing cards when she and Nathan decided to stay in Las Vegas. But no. Her moron of a boyfriend had to get himself arrested. Desperately trying to pull together the bail money, Georgia just wishes they had gone home. Little does she know that things in Wertham aren't exactly that great, either...


**A/N- Well, I asked and you, the public, replied. After seeing my reviews and PMs, I bring you the Georgia and Nathan one-shot. To any new readers here, I would recommend that you go and read my original story, **_**The Art of Abnormality **_**before reading this, because this does contain spoilers for the main story, and also you won't really understand my OC and her relationship with Nathan properly. The beginning and end take place two years after the epilogue of **_**The Art of Abnormality**_**, and the middle bits take place after Nathan's arrest in chapter forty-nine and before the end of season three of the show. Anyhoo, that's all you need to know. Let's carry on, my wayward sons.**

* * *

><p>I made sure my feet were planted firmly on the ladder before reaching up into the attic. The last thing I needed was to lose my footing and go catapulting down on to the garage floor. A broken neck this close to Christmas would kind of ruin, well, everything. I was in the process of removing the Christmas decorations from the attic, and I was currently working on getting the tree down with the radio blaring in the corner.<p>

"_And that was Katy Perry with 'Roar',_" the presenter was saying. "_Next up on Flashback Music Hour is Iggy Azalea featuring Charli XCX. This is 'Fancy'._"

"This is my jam!" I shouted to myself, starting to twitch my hips to the opening beats. "First things first, I'm the realest. Drop this and let the whole world feel it. And I'm still in the murder business. I can hold ya down, like I'm givin' lessons in Physics. You should want a bad bitch like this…"

I was singing so loudly, caught up in trying and failing to pull the tree out of the trap door (fuck me, it was heavier than usual) that I failed to hear the garage door open. Then I heard someone speak at the bottom of the ladder.

"Jesus Christ, Mum! Do you have to be so bloody loud all the time?"

I was so surprised to hear someone speak that I let out a shriek, almost falling off the ladder. "Holy bloody shit, Harley! You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!"

"Nice language choices there, Mum," she said dryly. "No wonder one of my first words was fuck."

"Oi. Just because I didn't stick soap in your mouth then doesn't mean I won't now," I replied. "Besides, I still maintain that all that was your father's fault."

"Okay, Mum, whatever helps you sleep at night," she said, and I could just sense that she was rolling her eyes.

"Hey, hold the ladder, can you?" I asked. "This box is blocking the Christmas tree so I need to get it out of the way."

"I've got some kinda full hands here," she answered, and I looked down; she was holding about four letters in one hand and a wireless PlayStation controller in the other.

"Okay, seriously, Harleen?"

"Technically, I'm not lying."

"God, you are so your father's daughter," I told her. "That is so the kind of smartarse shit that he'd come out with."

"Shouldn't have procreated with the man, then, should ya?" she retorted, but she did put down everything she was holding and take hold of the ladder. "Speaking of, where _is _Dad, anyhow? Get him to help you instead."

"Name one time your dad has helped me with anything that doesn't involve food," I said, grunting as I took hold of the cardboard box and lifted, starting to make my way down the steps. "Besides, he's driven Ivy and your brothers to the park to build snowmen."

"What exactly is the point of taking Devon?" she questioned. "All he'll do is eat the damn snow anyway."

"But he likes how it feels," I reminded her, dumping the box on the floor and straightening up, pushing my glasses back up my nose. Yes, glasses. I'd started getting migraines shortly after Devon was born, and a trip to the opticians told me that I was short-sighted. In fact, I was told that should have started wearing glasses when I was about fifteen, Harley's age. It was one of two drastic changes to my look. I'd also had my trademark fringe turned into a side one to keep it out of my eyes. Apparently being a mother to four children required more use of your sight than anticipated.

I turned and picked up the letters Harley had put down, flicking through the various bills, still wiggling my hips to the ending of _Fancy_.

"God, you have such an old person taste in music," Harley mocked.

"Excuse me! This is a classic! It was top of the charts when I was like, nineteen," I shot back.

"And that was such an old person thing to say!" she continued, grinning at me. "Old before your time, much?"

"Looking for a one-way ticket to living with your grandparents, much?" I mimicked. She rolled her eyes, brushing her recently-pixie-cropped back with her hand. I went to go back up into the attic to finally get the tree, when Harley suddenly reached for the box I'd just excavated, which was labelled _Old House _in black Sharpie.

"Hey, Mum? Can I look in here?" she asked, and I took my foot of the ladder and joined her.

"Yeah, sure. Let's get nostalgic," I replied, using my nail to cut through the old duct tape holding the lid together. As soon as we got it open, a huge cloud of dust puffed out, making us choke. Once we'd stopped wiping our itchy eyes, we began to unearth everything in the box.

"Woah, look at this!" Harley gasped, holding up a tiny white babygro with rabbit ears sewn on the hood. "Was this mine?"

"Yeah," I said with a smile, taking it from her and running my thumb over the worn velvet. "This is the babygro I put you in the day after you were born."

"Aw, Mum, don't get all emotional," she teased, holding up her flower girl dress from when Nathan and I got married. "Okay, I'm keeping this for my daughter. It's adorable."

"Maybe it can be the Young family heirloom," I joked, pulling out a Spider-Man rattle. "Jesus…"

"Nice, people probably thought I was a boy when they saw me with that."

"If I was a nerd, then I was going to have a nerd baby. That was how it worked!"

"Clearly." Harley rolled her eyes again, holding up a blue sparkly photo album labelled _Memories_.

I quickly snatched it from her. "Holy shit, I haven't seen this for years." I opened it with such force that an unglued picture came wafting out of it, landing back in the box. I smiled slowly at the first page of the book.

There were two pictures stuck there. The first one was of Nathan and I asleep on Nathan's mum's spare bed. He was twenty-three, I was nineteen and about thirty-six weeks pregnant. I was curled up with my back against Nathan's chest, and he had his arms around me, his hands cradling my bump, our eyes shut tight against the world. The other picture was of me, Nathan and a tiny newborn Harley, who was wearing the bunny suit, in hospital the day after Harley was born. God, I looked rough.

"Mum?" Harley suddenly said. "Who's this?" I looked up from the photo album. She had picked up the loose picture, and was holding it up for me to see.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

It was the picture. _The _picture. The Vegas picture. The one of Simon, Alisha, Nathan and I standing with our arms around each other in front of the Las Vegas sign. I hadn't laid eyes on this picture for years; I thought I'd lost it.

"Oh my God," I whispered, taking it from her and staring at it.

"Jesus, you look young. I never knew you and Dad had been to Vegas," Harley blustered on, oblivious to my sudden mood change. "You've never spoken about it."

I looked at her. "I don't speak about it because I don't like to remember it," I said abruptly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fifteen Years Ago…<strong>_

Alisha, Simon, Kelly and Curtis were in their favourite pub on the estate, Curtis behind the bar. Even after almost five months, the novelty of being able to just sit around, not having to worry about the next community service shift hadn't really worn off. The mood was mellow; it was late afternoon, and everyone just wanted to chill out.

Simon was just returning from choosing a song on the jukebox when Kelly suddenly spoke.

"'As anyone 'eard from Nathan and Georgia?" she questioned, frowning.

Simon sat down on the empty bar stool next to her. "They're still in Vegas. Nathan says he wants us to go over for the wedding."

Curtis snorted. "Yeah, I'll go. If that prick pays for my flights, and my hotel."

"Georgia wants ta get married in fockin' Vegas?" asked Kelly doubtfully.

"No way," Alisha replied with a smile. "She says she won't get married till Nathan actually proposes to her. Besides, she's still convinced she's gonna get married in a castle. "

"How the fuck does she think they're gonna afford that?" asked Curtis, rolling his eyes.

Simon swallowed his mouthful of beer. "He's going to use his power to cheat money out of the casinos."

"You don't need to be able to look into the future to know that that is gonna end _badly_," Alisha said almost pityingly, but the truth was, it had actually been kind of worrying her recently. She hadn't heard from Georgia in over a week, even though she'd attempted to phone and had texted her every day. Normally it wouldn't bother her, but Georgia was the kind of girl who had her phone on her 24/7.

"I hope they come back when the baby's born though," Alisha said now, trying to distract herself from her muted worry. "I bet it's gonna be really cute."

"I fink she's gettin' all broody, mate," Kelly said to Simon. "Better knock 'er op." Alisha didn't miss the look of startled alarm on Simon's face, but she chose to ignore it.

"Have you heard anything from Georgia recently?" she asked him.

Simon frowned. "No, not since last week, actually. Have you?"

Alisha shook her head. "No. I'm starting to worry a bit. I mean, what if Nathan's done something really fucking stupid and left her alone out there? She's so young, Simon."

Simon leaned forward and gently kissed her on the forehead. "Don't worry so much. If Georgia was in trouble, or Nathan was, she'd call. You know she would."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," she replied, giving him a small smile. "She's not that stupid. They're probably fine."

* * *

><p>"You're a fucking dickhead," I scornfully told Nathan, giving him a steely stare over the metal table between us. "I really fucking hope you're aware of that. You, my friend, are a <em>dickhead<em>."

"Are you stuck on fuckin' repeat or somethin'?" Nathan groaned, running a hand through his curls. "It's all you've fuckin' said to me every time you've visited. I don't know why you bother comin' anymore. Same whinge, different day."

"I'll seriously punch you clean in the eye, Nathan," I warned, crossing my legs in a fashion that wouldn't flash the prison guards my knickers under my dress. "Look at me! I'm still pregnant with your kid, FYI! I'm totally alone out here! I've got to _work_, Nathan! I'm a waitress in the hotel restaurant because nowhere else really wants to hire the pregnant foreign chick!"

"What?" Nathan seemed genuinely surprised by this. "I'm not bein' funny, love, but I've been in here a fuckin' week. How and why have you got another job in your, er, condition, shall we say?"

"It's gonna cost like seven grand to get you out of here!" I explained as patiently as I could. "It's either get a job and try to scrape up the cash, or let you rot away in here for God knows how many years! I'm not raising this kid by myself in the middle of the Nevada desert!"

"Haven't you still got like twelve grand at home? Leftover cash from floggin' our powers?"

"I'm trying to keep all contact with England to a bare minimum, thanks."

"Why's that, exactly?"

"Because to be honest, this is just plain fucking embarrassing!" I snapped at him. I mimed being on the phone. "Oh hi, Simon! Alisha! Yeah, we're fine, aside from the fact Nathan's a total bell-end and fucking got arrested! But I'm great!" I glared at him. "We'd been by ourselves a grand total of two weeks before you fucked up, Nathan. Two weeks. We're incapable of looking after ourselves for even a month."

Nathan sat there for a few moments, pulling what I imagine he thought was an intelligent expression. In actuality, he looked constipated. Then he snapped his fingers. "I got it! I'm a fuckin' genius!"

I sighed. "I'm really gonna regret asking this, but what's the plan, man?"

He leaned forward towards me and dramatically whispered, "Why don't I use my…special skills-" he raised his eyebrows significantly. "-to break out? Y'know, I can magic up the outside wall of my cell into fuckin' glass or paper or some shit like that!"

"Are you actually fucking insane?" I hissed at him.

"What?! What?!" Nathan was comically affronted. "C'mon George, it could be so simple!"

"No! What's simple is your fucking head! Hello?! You break out of here, and you have half of Vegas' police force on your arse because you're a fugitive! We'll be back where we started because they'll lock down all the airports so we can't fly home! Dickhead!" I said again.

"It was just a suggestion," Nathan said, raising his hands.

"Well it was a shit suggestion," I said sourly, folding my arms. "Either say something useful or shut the fuck up, 'kay babes?"

"You're turnin' back to your psycho bitch ways," he pointed out. "You're aware of that, right?"

"Get fucked, Nathan," I spat, just as the whistle for the end of visiting time sounded. I sighed and stood up, stretching as I did so and placing a hand on my baby bump.

"So I'll see ya on Saturday then?" Nathan asked, standing up as well, grinning at me.

I nodded, suddenly feeling tears pricking at the back of my throat. I blinked a few times, trying to keep my emotions in check. Lengthy bouts of prisoner/visitor physical contact wasn't allowed, so Nathan and I clung to each other over the table for as long as we could.

"I miss you," I whispered. "I miss you so much. Please come home."

"I'm tryin'," he whispered back, kissing me on the temple, and I in turn moved my head so I could kiss him on the lips for a few seconds.

"Okay, that's enough." A guard appeared out of nowhere, and Nathan and I were forced to let go of each other.

_Please keep safe, _I thought at him as I nonchalantly gathered up my bag and removed my visitors vest. _I'll see you soon. I promise I'm gonna get you the fuck out of here._

"Love ya, baby," Nathan said in his typical brash manner, grinning at me.

I cleared my throat loudly- the thickness of the tears trying to escape would make my voice shake otherwise. "I love you too," I replied as calmly as I could, trying not to totally give away how distraught I was.

I kept up my composure the entire ten minute walk from the visiting room to the car park. I placed my handbag in the back seat of my little black rental car and climbed into the driver's seat, closing the door firmly behind me.

I didn't start the car, though. I just sat there, staring out the windscreen and gripping the steering wheel so hard it felt like I was going to rip it out of the dashboard. One tear squeezed its way out of my eye, then another, and another, and pretty soon I was just sobbing.

This wasn't a first-time thing, either; I'd done this the previous two times I'd visited Nathan as well. It killed me to see him in there, back in one of those fucking orange jumpsuits. We'd worked so, so hard to break away from all that shit, and he was right back to square one.

And here I was, trapped in the middle of America, alone, twenty-six weeks pregnant with my boyfriend locked up in a state penitentiary. We couldn't have fucked up any more royally if we'd tried. Why hadn't we just gone _home_?

My phone suddenly vibrated in the back. I leaned through the gap in the front seats to seize my bag, pulling my phone out from within. It was a text from Simon.

_Hi Georgia. We hope you're okay, we haven't heard from you in a while. Hope you and Nathan are still having a good time. X_

I sighed, wiping the tears from my face. Simon… God, I wanted to talk to him so badly. I wanted to talk to all of them. But what was I supposed to say? I couldn't tell them about Nathan. But I couldn't lie to them. I chucked the phone down on the passenger seat without replying. I couldn't even talk to my best friend. How sad was that?

I sniffed fiercely and stuck my key in the ignition, starting the engine with a furious rev and backing out of the parking space. It was two PM, meaning it was ten PM in England. Simon wouldn't even look for the reply that would never come till morning anyway. I had exactly two hours before I started the evening shift in the hotel restaurant. With any luck, I'd be clocked out and back in my room by eleven tonight.

Ha, luck. Yeah right.

* * *

><p>"Hiya. Welcome to The Venetian Hotel," I said tiredly for literally the fiftieth time today. "My name is Georgia and I'll be your waitress this evening. Would you like to order any drinks to start with?"<p>

"Sorry, what was that?" sneered the balding, overweight, middle-aged man who was sitting at the table with his much younger girlfriend. "I couldn't really understand that God-awful accent of yours."

_Says the guy who sounds like a rip-off of the Godfather_, was something I so very nearly said. However, in reality I merely stood there, sickly-sweet smile plastered to my (no doubt red and sweaty) face, pen paused over my notepad.

"Sorry, sir," I said. "I'm not from around here. Pretty far from home, actually. What I said was, would you like to order any drinks?"

"Yeah, we would," the guy replied rudely. "I'll have an ice-cold Bud Light." No please, no thank you. Of course.

I noted it down before turning to the stunning redhead sitting next to Major Dickbag. "And for the lady?" She seemed uncomfortable.

"Could I please have-" she began, but her 'boyf' cut across her.

"She'll have the same fuckin' thing."

"Well, actually, sir," I said, trying very hard to keep my cool. "I think you'll find your girlfriend was going to place her own order." I _hated _douche-nuggets who treated their girlfriends this way.

There was a heavy silence for a split second. Then:

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" the guys snarled. _Oh shit_.

"I- I just meant that I think y-your girlfriend w-wants something else," I stuttered. I was desperately trying to keep a toughened resolve, but seeing this guy scowl at me the way he was made me panic. Fuck, what if he really _was _mafia?!

"Yeah? Well guess what, sweetheart?" he said, dangerously low, leaning across the table to stare me down. "I don't give a _fuck_ what you think. She's my girl, I'll decide what she has. Who the fuck do you think you are, Waitress Girl?"

"No one, sir, I just-"

"Exactly. _No one_," the guy continued maliciously. "You're a fuckin' waitress, babe. I own three casinos and two hotels, includin' this one. I make at _least_ four and a half million dollars a month. And you? You're waitin' on tables at the beck and call of people like me."

He looked me up and down, taking in the sight of me in my uniform of black shorts, tights, shirt and high heels, making my skin crawl. "Look at you. How old even are you, because you look about sixteen. Do you even know who the daddy of that baby is? I doubt it. You're nothin', little girl. _Nothin_'. So why don't you fuck off back across the pond and stop stickin' your opinion where it ain't wanted?"

I couldn't say anything. I'd had some mean shit said to me over the last four days since I'd started working, but never, _ever_ had I been at the forefront of such abuse in my _life_. Even during the vicious arguments I'd had with Lola, even though we'd thrown C-bombs at each other, called each other every foul name under the sun and said some truly horrific things- 'fat ugly cow' and 'spotty little twig bitch' being most common- we had never made each other feel as small as this cunt had just made me feel.

"Is there a problem over here?" Oh brilliant, because this was exactly what I needed; Ashton, the shift manager, getting involved.

"No, Ashton, I-" I started to say, but of course Douche-Nugget had to get his word in first.

"Yeah, actually. There is." Well, I gave it approximately four minutes before I lost my job and my hotel room.

"Mr Bertoni!" Ashton gasped, his eyes properly focussing on Douche-Nugget. "Sir, welcome! I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you! Please, what's the problem?"

_You fucking spineless kiss-ass_, I thought at him, and he flashed me a now-familiar look of confusion everyone had when they realised I hadn't spoken aloud.

"Well, Mr…" 'Mr Bertoni' squinted at Ashton's name tag. "Ashton. Your little waitress here-" he jerked his thumb at me. "-doesn't seem to understand her place. She verbally abused me-"

"_Verbally abused_?!" I exploded. "Are you being fucking serious, mate?! All I did was ask if it was necessary to treat your poor girlfriend like a fucking puppet!"

"Which gutter did you drag her out of?" Bertoni ignored me completely. Of course.

"This is a, er, highly unorthodox employment, sir, I will admit," Ashton attempted to explain. "Georgia has only been here a few days. She's staying in the hotel, you see, and her boyfriend was recently arrested, so-"

"Hey!" I protested angrily. "What the fuck happened to employer/employee confidentiality?!"

"We have provided her with a temporary means of raising his bail," he finished, also ignoring me.

"Oh, so she's a charity case?" Bertoni derided.

"Harvey, stop it!" his girlfriend begged.

"Shut up, Morgan!" he snapped at her, and she did, immediately, like a trained dog. "Now, sweetie pie, I'd like to say I'm sorry about your boyfriend," he directed at me. "But I honestly don't give a shit. I snap my fingers and you lose you job, just like that. Luckily for you, I'm in a good mood. I won't have you fired. But you're not fuckin' workin' tonight, I'll tell you that. Ashton, I want her out of here now. You wanna have her workin' tomorrow or whatever, that's your call."

"Yes, Mr Bertoni, of course, sir," Ashton spluttered, practically tripping over the words in his attempt to lick Bertoni's arse crack. "I'll get Kiki to serve you instead. Georgia," he said curtly, jerking his head towards the staff room. "Let's go." I didn't move. "_Now_." He seized my upper arm and began steering me away from the scene.

"Ashton, are you kidding me?!" I hissed at him.

"I know, Georgia, but he's the goddamn owner!" he replied, shoving me through the staff room door and closing it behind us. "What the hell was all that?!"

"He was being a total twat to that…Morgan or whatever her name was!" I shouted, gesturing at the door. "I wasn't gonna just sit back and let him treat her like shit!"

"For God's sake, girl!" Ashton shouted back. "I don't know how this works in England, but here, you can't talk to customers like that! Especially not the owner!"

"How the fuck was I supposed to know he owned the place?!" I fumed. "What guy who earns like fifty million a year eats in a hotel he owns that sells steak for seventeen dollars?!"

"Maybe he's having a rough night," Ashton snapped sarcastically. Then he sighed. "Look, Georgia. I'm trying to help you out here, I really am. But just because your boyfriend's in jail and you're pregnant doesn't mean you get special treatment and allowances."

"I don't _want_ fucking special allowances!" I snapped back, placing a protective hand on my stomach. "Forget it. I'm out of here. I'll come in tomorrow at one as planned, don't worry." And without waiting for his reply, I grabbed hold of my backpack hanging from my clothes peg and stormed out the door.

God, I missed working in the pub back home. This was all I could think about as I stomped back to my sad, lonely hotel room. Jacob really had been the nicest, most reasonable boss I could have asked for. It had been great working with Alisha and Curtis, being able to see the gang every day.

God, why couldn't I just man up and text someone back home? How were they all? I didn't even know. But I was prepared to bet good money that none of them had fucked up like we had.

* * *

><p>They'd fucked up. That was the only thought Alisha had as she and the others changed into those fucking jumpsuits again. She shouldn't have been surprised, really. It was bound to have happened sooner rather than later.<p>

She pushed her new locker half-shut as Simon came up behind her and placed a comforting hand on her back. For _fuck _sake. They should have been done with all this bullshit! Rudy really hadn't changed since college; he was still a fucking idiot.

"Honestly guys, I just..." he tried to apologise as Alisha, Simon, Kelly and Curtis all stared at him, unimpressed. "I thought they'd let y' off with a warnin'." He smiled wanly, and Alisha just folded her arms tighter so she wouldn't kick off. A slow, patronizing handclap suddenly echoed through the room behind them. They turned, and Shaun the Dickhead Probation Worker appeared round the corner, smirking at them all.

"That didn't take long, did it?" he jeered. "Congratulations."

"You haven't changed," retorted Alisha; he was still a wanker. Shock.

"Oh, that's where you're wrong," he shot back derisively. "Yeah, 'cause I've found a new dedication: ensuring your complete and total rehabiliation." He grinned snarkily, a smile that appeared as quickly as it vanished. "I'll get started right after I've watched _Homes Under The Hammer._"

He turned and made to leave the locker room as Rudy piped up, "Ooh! Can...can we watch that with ya?"

Shaun came back, looking just as bored as always. "You lot can piss off and do some work. Chop, chop."

Alisha huffed out a sigh as she slammed her locker shut and locked it, putting the key in her pocket. It really was the same shit, different day again. She wondered how long it would be before some wankstain with a power came along and tried to kill them. Again.

Jesus fucking Christ, why hadn't she and Simon just stayed with Georgia and Nathan? Vegas had been perfect. Vegas had been their place to just be happy.

* * *

><p>It was official. This was the lowest point of my life. That really was saying something. After all the shit I'd endured over the last ten months- being arrested, getting kicked out the house, almost dying all those times, getting pregnant by a boy I'd known barely six weeks at the time- <em>this <em>was my lowest point.

In the three weeks since Harvey Bertoni's verbal abuse, I'd found myself feeling more and more down by the day. I tried to be perky at work and when I visited Nathan, but it drained me. My hormones were all over the place, making me feel even worse. I just never seemed to be happy anymore.

…_could be going a lot worse. I haven't been savagely beaten to a pulp yet, either, so that's a bonus. My celly's still a bit of a freak. I think he fancies me, but can you blame him? ;) But don't worry, love, he's not my type. I only have room for one psychopath in my life, and that is your lovely self._

_Oh, I've had my prisoner/outside loner pen-pal crap cut off too. Yeah, turns out the chick I was talking to is batshit crazy. They tried to put me into counselling after the guards read the last letter she sent me. But it's all fine, I thought it was fucking hilarious . Anyway, my point is that you need to stop with all the worrying. It isn't healthy. Like, at all, you mental bitch. Plus, sending me letters covered in tears and make-up makes me just a tad freaked out. I'll see you soon, baby. Don't become too much of a wreck without me._

_From the only man that you will ever love,_

_Nathan xxx_

I let out a choked sob and crumpled Nathan's letter up, throwing it in the bin in the corner of the room. It wasn't that I didn't want him to write to me, of course I did; it was just that every letter read the same. He covered up how shit he was feeling by writing how he talked- IE, like a carefree moron. But I saw right fucking through that.

I sank back on the bed, curling up in the foetal position, just crying and crying.

"I'm so sorry, baby," I sobbed, wrapping my arms around my bump. "I'm sorry for crying like this. I'm sorry for messing up so bad. I'm sorry Daddy isn't here right now."

It hadn't meant to be like this. Everything was meant to be _perfect_. Vegas was supposed to be our chance to escape, to get out of England and just have fun, to see something different. It wasn't meant to go this way. Oh fan-fucking-tastic, I was quoting _Spring Breakers _at a time like this.

Despite the fact the heating in the hotel room was as high as I could make it without causing a fire, I drew my dressing gown tighter around my pyjama-clad body; I was working myself into such a state that I was shaking. This was all my fault. Of course it was. Everything that went wrong in my life was my fault. My parents had always been fond of telling me that.

I should have told Nathan that staying in America was a bad idea. I should have forced him to take us home with Simon and Alisha. I should have stopped him using his power in the casino. I should have been able to stop him going to jail. I should have…I should have been stronger.

My phone was plugged into my portable docking station in the corner, and I'd had it playing my music on shuffle for the last half an hour in attempt to give myself something to focus on. Watching TV had failed. I'd watched five minutes of _Teen Wolf_, then switched channels and watched five minutes of _Gossip Girl_, then switched again and watched ten minutes of _Supernatural_, though that last one had probably caused me even more emotional trauma. Damn rerun of the season five finale.

The music had been relatively helpful, though, playing out my happy, poppy tunes with positive messages and bright beats. But now, it started to play out one of the most depressing songs I had: _Stay _by Miley Cyrus. I froze up, the lyrics haunting me. At first, all I did was listen. Then it reached the chorus.

_And I love you more than I did before,_  
><em>And if today I don't see your face.<em>  
><em>Nothing's changed, no one could take your place.<em>  
><em>It gets harder every day.<em>  
><em>Say you love me more than you did before,<em>  
><em>And, "I'm sorry it's this way.<em>  
><em>But I'm coming home, I'll be coming home.<em>  
><em>And if you ask me I will stay, I will stay."<em>

"SHUT UP!" I suddenly screamed at the phone. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up _shut up_!" I leapt up from the bed and seized the docking station, tearing the lead clean out of the socket. I ripped the phone out of the jack and struggled with the lock screen, my fingers trembling so much that I keyed it in wrong so many times, the phone locked itself for five minutes. Miley kept warbling on, and the lyrics were so accurate, so painful that I couldn't listen anymore.

I turned and hurled the phone at the wall, where it collided with the exposed brick fireplace, cutting the music off rather abruptly. Being an Apple product, the combined force of hitting the wall then landing heavily on the floor caused the phone to split apart- the back snapped off and made the battery fall out, and cracks splintered along the touch screen so violently I swear I heard it splitting.

"Oh, fuck!" I cried, gathering up the pieces and trying- and failing- to put them back together. It was official. I really did break everything I touched. I dropped the pieces again and curled up into an armchair, resuming my crying. I just wanted Nathan here, to hold me close and tell me to get the fuck over myself. No, I didn't just want him. I needed him.

I was so alone, and it was killing me.

* * *

><p>Zombie cats. Fucking zombie cats. This really was stretching it, even by their standards. God, Alisha felt sorry for that poor old bat lying out in the hallway with half her face eaten. Nobody needed to go through that.<p>

The cat was bloody fast, she gave it that, but Simon had managed to wrap the little fucker up in a blanket and kept it pinned to the ground.

"Now what are we gonna do with it!?" Alisha asked frantically.

"We kill it," replied Curtis. He crouched down, positioning a hammer above the cat's head, drew his arm back and...held the hammer to Simon. "I can't do it!"

"Why should I do it?!" Simon demanded. Curtis held the hammer out to Alisha.

"I'm not doing it!" she snapped.

He tried Kelly. "No way! It's bad luck ta kill a cat!"

"Now, come on!" chipped in Rudy. "You can kill numerous probation workers, y' can't kill one cat?"

"Probation workers don't count," Alisha retorted.

"Well then, it's your lucky day," Rudy told them. "Because I hate cats."

Alisha suddenly let out a surpressed giggle; Rudy had sounded just like Georgia in that moment. Georgia, the girl who had almost killed her own sister, had been shit-scared of cats. She couldn't even go near them. If one had come anywhere near her, she'd crossed over to the other side of the bloody road.

Alisha remembered one time when they'd been out shopping a few days before they flew to Vegas. The two of them had been walking to Georgia and Nathan's flat from Georgia's car, when a little Siamese cat had wandered up to them and started meowing. Georgia had frozen, her face drained of colour.

"Fuck off, you little four-legged fucker!" she'd hissed, waving her hands at the cat.

"Georgia, chill out," Alisha had said. "It's not gonna hurt you."

"The little bastard wants to fucking eat me!" she'd replied. "It's like, the universal cat law: they secretly want to eat humans! I swear to God, that thing comes near me and I'll fucking kill it!"

Alisha had just laughed when the cat had suddenly lunged, sinking its teeth into Georgia's ankle. Fuck, had she screamed. Her bags had gone flying up into the air as she'd sprinted her way into her flat screeching, "Fuck this shit!"

Looks like she'd been right, after all.

Now, it looked like Rudy had exactly the same attitude. He handed his Cornetto to Curtis and squatted down by the cat, raising the hammer above his head. He went to whack the cat about five times before he backed out too.

"No, no, no, no! I can't kill a cat, man! It's just...it's out of order, innit?"

Alisha frowned. Apparently there was a difference in their attitudes; Georgia would have actually put the hammer straight through the cat's skull with literally no regrets, just like everything else she did.

* * *

><p>I stood outside the prison gates, picking anxiously at a loose thread on my blazer sleeve. Finally. It had taken five weeks, but I'd finally got Nathan out of prison. It had taken the better part of a week and a bit, but after various phone calls back to England to get seven grand in dollars wired over to me, plus updating Nathan's visa, we could go home.<p>

I'd caved and called my bank in England approximately twelve hours after the outburst in my hotel room that resulted in my busted phone. Once I'd purchased a cheap back-up mobile (thank God my SIM card hadn't broken) I was on the phone to my bank in England, catching them just before they closed up. Damn time differences.

So then, after going through the courts and their appointed lawyers and God only knows what else happened behind the scenes, I posted the bail. It took a few days to clean it all up completely, and in that time I had to get all Nathan's passport and visa records updated so he'd actually be let out of the country. A week, it took to get everything finalised. But the point is, it _was_ finalised.

I clutched my blazer tightly around me- or, as tight as I could with this damn bump sticking out in front of me. It was mid-March, and it wasn't the exactly warmest out here. I rocked back and forth in my chunky-heeled boots, growing more and more impatient by the second. I had seen Nathan a grand total of ten times over the past six weeks; we'd spent our first Valentine's Day together looking at each other across a cold metal table, unable to give each other a present, a card…unable to even touch. I wanted him _now_.

"Please," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. "Please." And for once in my life, it was like someone had answered my wish. I heard the metal gates creaking open. My eyes snapped open, and there he was, a prison guard seeing him through the gate back into the outside world.

My boyfriend.

He looked thinner, his hair more grown out than it had been when I'd last seen him, and he had bags under his eyes. Prison had drained him, as it would any normal person. But even seeing him more downtrodden than he'd ever been, I couldn't stop my face breaking into a massive smile as soon as I laid eyes on him.

"Nathan!" I cried, and I started running towards him, ignoring the fact my heels made it ninety-seven percent more likely that I'd break my ankle. It didn't matter; I reached him in a matter of seconds, and I threw my arms around his neck, clinging on to him like I would never let go.

"Hi Georgie," he said quietly, kissing the top of my head as he tightly hugged me back, his arms around my waist.

"Hiya," I laughed, so relieved, sniffing as tears began to slide down my cheeks. "Long time, no see."

"Tell me about it," he replied, grinning at me. "You look like you've put on about three stone."

"Oh come on," I protested. "It's more like three pounds…but shit, is it that noticeable!?"

"No, I'm just fuckin' with you," he answered, leaning down and kissing me properly on the lips.

"I've missed you so much," I murmured.

"I've missed you too, baby," he said. "The only women in there were either lesbians or fuckin' mental."

"Hey!" I said indignantly.

"Not your kind of mental," he quickly backtracked. "I'm talkin' bangin'-their-heads-on-the-wall, voices-in-their-heads nutcases."

"Well they are in a penitentiary," I pointed out. "No one locked up in there was gonna be normal, were they?"

"Hey!" Nathan mimicked me.

"Yeah, I do mean your kind of not normal," I shot back, smiling at him as we took each other's hand and began to walk back to the rental car.

"Eager to get back to the hotel room, are we?" Nathan drawled suggestively. "Make up for some lost time?"

"There _is_ no hotel room anymore," I replied calmly, opening the driver's door and awkwardly wedging myself in the seat; oh Christ, give me a week and I wouldn't bloody fit.

"Oh fuck, what did you do?" Nathan groaned as he slipped into the passenger seat. "Smash it up, burn it down?"

"Neither," I said. "I checked us out."

"What?! Why the fuck would you do that?! Where the fuck are we gonna live?!"

"Our flat." I opened my satchel and pulled out our passports and the two tickets I'd bought with the miserable money I'd made waitressing. "Our suitcases are in the boot and our flight leaves in three hours. Babe, we're going home. We're going back to Wertham."

* * *

><p>We touched down on English soil at nine PM London time, though Nathan and I were running on Vegas time, feeling wide awake. I had to fight the urge to drop to my knees and kiss the ground as soon as we walked out of the terminal. Home really is where the heart was.<p>

Walking out to the carpark where our taxi was waiting for us, I never realised just how much I loved the grey expanse of the British sky, threatening us with a spring shower that would completely frizz my hair. I probably would have stripped off and danced in the rain, yelling American-Indian-style.

"You've got that crazy manic look in your eye," Nathan commented as he put the last of our cases in the taxi boot and climbed in the backseat next to me.

"I'm so fucking happy to be home," I replied, smiling out the window. "I'll be happy if I never think about Las Vegas for the rest of my life."

"Come on, love, don't you think that's a wee bit cynical?" Nathan asked, putting his arm around my shoulders. "I'm seein' it all as one big learning experience."

"Learning experience? Are you fucking serious? Besides, it's not cynical, it's smart," I said, pulling my phone from my bag. "If I forget Vegas, I'm far less likely to end up back in therapy with post-traumatic stress syndrome or whatever." I clicked into my contacts and selected Alisha's name; I wanted her to be the first to know that we were home.

It rang for about two rings, then-

"_I'm sorry, the mobile phone you are trying to call is switched off. Please leave a message after the beep,_" said the automated voice.

"That's weird," I muttered, frowning. Alisha never let her phone die, and she never turned it off. I scrolled through my contacts down to Simon's name. He'd know where she was, since the two of them were practically joined at the hip. Two rings. Then-

"_I'm sorry, the number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please hang up the phone._"

"What the fuck is going on?!" I exclaimed, holding the phone out in front of me.

"Somethin' the matter?" Nathan questioned, pausing tickling the top of my shoulder so he could look at me.

"Simon and Alisha aren't answering their phones," I muttered, confused as hell.

"Well, we all know what that means don't we?" Nathan winked at me. "Barry's gettin' lucky tonight!"

"No, I mean...urgh, never mind, you pervert." I rolled my eyes, now selecting Kelly's number. Thank God, she actually answered.

"Georgia? You awight?

"Hey Kel!" I chirped, relaxing. "We're back!"

"Wot, you and Nathan? Ya 'ome?"

"Yeah! We landed about half an hour ago!"

"Did ya 'ave a good time? No one 'eard from ya for ages."

"Um, let's call it a learning experience," I said casually, ignoring the affronted look I got from Nathan. _Get over it_, I mouthed at him. "Anyway, how is everyone? How's the gang? Have you heard from Simon and Alisha today because neither of them are picking up their phones and...Kelly?" I only now noticed how silent Kelly was being. "You still there?"

"Fock, Georgia, ya don't know, do ya?" she said quietly.

"Know...know what?" I whispered, a ball of fear suddenly constricting in my throat. What was wrong?!

"Georgia...Simon and Alisha...they're...fock," she said again, and I could hear her sighing. "Alisha's fockin' dead, Georgia. There was this medium wiv a focked op power, and 'e brought back that fockin' Christian bitch with the fringe and...and she fockin' cut Alisha's throat."

"_What_?!" I gasped out, tears welling up in my eyes and spilling over.

"Simon wos the guy in the mask," she continued. "'E went back in time. 'E wos the one 'oo saved os all them times. This is why 'e went back. 'Cause Alisha died. 'E's gone too, mate. I'm sorry, yeah? ...Georgia?"

The phone slipped out of my hand as I choked on my own breath, trying to keep composure and failing miserably. My phone hit the taxi floor as I leaned forward and placed my head in my hands, sobbing.

"George? Georgia? Baby, fuck, what's happened?!" exclaimed Nathan, clearly panicked as he placed his hands on my shoulders and drew me close to his chest, holding my as I cried into his chest. I couldn't even speak.

_This is why we shouldn't have stayed in Vegas,_ I thought at him, dissolving into hysterics.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Now...<strong>_

"So who are they?" Harley asked again.

I wiped away the solitary tear that had escaped. "This is Alisha, and this is Simon," I explained, pointing at them in turn. "They were mine and your dad's best friends before you were born."

"You've never spoken about them before, either," she said almost accusingly. "How come you aren't friends anymore? What happened to them?"

"Alisha, um...Alisha died a few weeks after she and Simon got home from America," I said quietly, reluctantly. "And Simon...he had to move away after that."

"How did she die?" Harley pressed on. "And where did Simon go? How come you don't ever see him if he only moved away?"

"Harley!" I suddenly shouted at her, something inside me snapping. "Enough with the fucking questions! I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay?"

Harley jerked back, physically startled. For a second, it looked like she was going to start crying. Then she found her voice. "Why do you always get like this, Mum?!" she yelled. "I want to know things about you, I like hearing your stories from when you were a kid! You're my mum, I want to know you! But sometimes it really feels like I don't! Every time I ask you about before I was born you get so _cagey_! It's like you want to pretend half your life never even happened! And I'm sick of it, okay?! I'm fucking sick of it!" She jumped to her feet and stormed from the garage, slamming the door shut behind her. A minute later, I heard her bedroom door slam upstairs too.

I sat down on the bottom step of the ladder, breathing heavily. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_. I knew this would happen eventually. Harley was getting older; I couldn't just fob her off with my petty excuses anymore. Everyone knew about their parents' pasts, and she didn't. I'd kept her in the dark for fifteen years, trying to protect her, shield her from all that. Nathan and I had never even told her about our powers.

I was up on my feet, opening the garage door and stumbling my way through the house. As I reached the hall, the front door opened and Nathan ambled in.

"Hey baby," he said cheerfully, grinning at me.

"Hm? Oh, hiya," I said distractedly, glancing up the stairs. "Where are the kids?"

"Left 'em at the park," he replied. "I figured Anakin's old enough to look after Devon and Ives for ten minutes. Ivy wants her gloves, bless her." He peered at me. "Are you alright, George? You seem...distracted."

"Oh God. Nathan, it's Harley," I said quietly.

"What about her?"

"She found one of the pictures from Vegas! She's asking all these questions about Simon and Alisha...I can't lie to her anymore, babe, I can't! What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

Nathan frowned; this was one of those rare times I caught him off-guard and actually made him be serious. "Fuck. Love, I think we've gotta tell her. She's fifteen. She's not fuckin' stupid anymore."

I nodded slowly. "For once, you actually make sense, Nathan."

"Don't get used to it," he said with a grin, kissing my forehead. "Good luck, baby. Don't let this go nuclear." He grabbed Ivy's gloves from the coat peg and went outside, closing the door against the snowy air.

_I think we've gotta tell her_. We had to tell her. I crept up the stairs as quietly as I could; I didn't want her to think I was coming upstairs to have a go at her. Instead, I went into mine and Nathan's bedroom and crouched by the bed, reaching underneath until my hand came into contact with what I was looking for.

I pulled out the thick pink marbled notebook and ran my hand over the cover; I knew this would be needed eventually. I tucked it under my arm and headed down the hall, knocking on the door to the bedroom Harley and Ivy shared. "Harls?" I said quietly. "Harley?"

"Go away, Mum!" she shouted, and her voice was thick; she had been crying. "I don't want to talk to you!"

I sucked in a deep breath. It was now or never. _Harley, please let me in. We need to talk_, I thought at her, and even outside the door I could hear her audible gasp. Her footsteps quickly shuffled across the carpet, and she opened the door, her face white as ash.

"Mum?" she whispered. "How...what was that?"

"We really need to talk, baby girl," I said softly. "Can I please come in?"

She nodded, stepping back and letting me into the room. I meandered my way through the mess of Ivy's Barbies and Monster High dolls on the floor, and the two of us sat down on Harley's bed. I placed the notebook on my lap.

"Do you remember a few years ago, I told you I was writing a story?" I asked.

"Yeah?" She voiced it as a question.

"This is it," I said, patting the book. "When I was in therapy for my nightmares, my doctor told me to write down everything I thought was the cause of them. Well, this is it. I wrote down everything that happened to me from when I was eighteen to the day you were born, Harls."

"But this...this doesn't explain how you can _speak into my mind_!" she stuttered.

"I know, baby, I know," I soothed. "But this will." I held the book out to her. "I've spent the last fifteen years trying to protect you from this, but now I think you're ready to know. Please. I want you to know now."

Harley hesistated, but she did take the notebook for me and flicked it open to the first page. Then she closed it again, looking at me. "Will you read it to me?"

"Harley, I don't- don't you think you're old enough to read for yourself."

"It's your story, Mum. I want you to be the one to tell it to me."

Now it was me who hesitated. Was I ready to relive this again? When it still felt so raw? I went to shake my head, but then...then I nodded. "Sure, Harls. I'll read it to you." We sat back against Harley's wooden headboard. She cuddled up close to me, and I put my arm around her shoulders as I flicked to the first page, just like we used to sit when I'd read to her as a little girl.

I cleared my throat. "In the words of the fabulous J.K. Rowling, I, Georgia Riches, used to be proud to say that I was perfectly normal, thank you very much..."

* * *

><p><strong>AN- So. This turned out about two thousand words longer than I thought it would. How fun! So, I really, **_**really **_**hope you all liked it! I've been wanting to resist these characters for ages, and this seemed like the perfect way to do so! So I'd absolutely love to know what you thought of things like Georgia maturing, her relationship with Harley, how I handled the season three things! Please review, it would mean so much! Thank you for letting me come back to Georgia and Nathan, guys, and see you soon! Xx Gee xX**

**PS- So on my profile there are now links to how Georgia and Harley look in the 'present' sections, and also the link to the sort of mini Polyvore collection I've made! Check 'em out! And all my **_**Supernatural **_**fans, make sure to check out my best mate LittleMissUnderstood's **_**Better The Angel You Know**_**, which is listed in my Favourite Stories!**


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